


Can't Run Forever

by unknown_unspoken



Category: Scream (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath, Bar, F/M, Flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-18 19:04:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16522862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknown_unspoken/pseuds/unknown_unspoken
Summary: After all of the killing sprees (post Scream 4), Sidney tries to move on.Years of killings destroy a person. All Sidney Prescott feels she can do is run, so she does. Pushing people away, she finds herself alone with one comfort: alcohol, in a dimly-lit bar full of people unknown to her. She's found a new routine in life, but her past always seems to come back.After a few shots, her past isn't the only thing to return.Kincaid walks in through the old, wooden doors of the bar.





	Can't Run Forever

She sat at the bar stool, awaiting her next shot to slide down the table. She wasn't drunk yet, not even buzzed, but damn she wished she was.

———

After all of the killings she had found ways to cope with the loss and betrayal, time and time again. She even managed to find a temporary solution for her inability to feel safe. She had combated this in the solitude of her secluded, well-armed house. Of course, that had only worked so long. She was bound by some fucked up destiny, or perhaps just her mother's legacy, to live watching other people die until inevitably she would be among them in the obituaries. And even with the conclusion of killing her own half-brother Roman, the dead seemed to follow her.

Even her booby-trapped house and alarm system couldn't stop them from penetrating her isolation, so she had gone back to Woodsboro. Nothing like home, right? She ditched her previous efforts of safety in isolation to re-emerge herself in the chaos of people and the publishing of her book.

Of course, it only turned out that she would be attacked by yet another relative, Jill Roberts, and her psychotic boyfriend, Charlie. Four murder sprees and only mere survival would be enough to drive anyone insane, but living the life she had, Sidney was far from being an ordinary person.

In the following few weeks that she was released from Woodsboro Hospital, she had moved not far from the town, knowing she would be inevitably drawn back. She resided in a town just along the outskirts of L.A., and found the quaint location suitable for her attempt to steer her life back on track.

Still, some old habits she had picked up remained, leading her to avoid most people, and those she did speak with were always kept at arms length. She liked her solitude, despite how it failed to protect her before.

It was a particularly gloomy day when she trudged her way to a local bar for the first time. She only accidentally found it when she missed a turn on her way back to her house. Her house. She doesn't think she'll ever find a place to call home, seeing as anytime she's ever felt that connection to a person or a place, it's slashed apart. But, one night in a remotely located bar didn't take long to start feeling like it.

It wasn't the type of "home" anyone would have expected, nor one that most people would ever desire, but for Sidney that didn't really matter. Her rationale was that after all the shit she'd been through, she deserved a drink. Well, maybe a few more than that. It's not like the place was packed full of reporters to judge her, and she had distanced herself far enough from anyone she truly loved that could tell her otherwise.

The first time she stepped foot in the bar was a pitiful accident, but after driving home from seeking out jobs she was tired and couldn't find the will to get directions back to her house. She entered the bar lethargically and was overcome by its light, soft rock music and the surrounding people were all years older than her. The dim lighting altered the atmosphere, and obligated the lively conversations of the customers to lighten up the area.

All of the unfamiliar faces would have made her uneasy in most situations, but her exhaustion hindered her paranoia, and she hoped the dim lighting and help from booze would make her face less recognizable to those around her. She'd rather not be questioned by people when all she really wanted to do was get back to her house.

When Sidney lazily plopped down at the bar, she chose a stool across from a group of people who were drinking. She wanted to avoid interaction, knowing the only dialogue she wanted to have only needed to words:

Whiskey, please.

When the server made his way over to take her drink request, he wore a soft smile that stood out from the light stubble surrounding it. He appeared to be in his late fifties, mid sixties, maybe. His dark brown eyes looked to Sidney knowingly, likely the dark circles under her eyes giving her exhaustion away. Had his grey button-down shirt been brand new he would have looked out of place, but it appeared to have been worn down overtime. It matched the look of the bar, complimenting it with a sense of causality and familiarity.

"What can I get for you?" He asked, his voice rough. He smirked and gave a small chuckle when Sidney replied. She had strayed from her preferred favorite two words but knew she would still have to drive herself home. So she went with good ol' bottled beer. When the bartender eventually slid the drink down her way, she nodded and returned a small smile.

By the time Sidney was sipping on her second beer, some of the groupings had worked their way out and she cherished the reduction of potential threats. After wiping the bar and stools from where the group had been sitting, the server stood across from Sidney, taking inventory.

"I haven't seen you around before, so I take you're new?" She nodded, drinking her beer before answering more thoroughly. She told him vaguely about having had some "family business" in a nearby town, and was thankful when he didn't press the matter. He asked her for her name, and she utilized her old alias, Laura. She only felt a tiny twinge of guilt for lying to him. He smiled politely and said nothing against it. He revealed to her that his name was Peter and that he'd owned the bar for over a decade with his wife, Jen.

She was listening intently to him as he continued when she mentally kicked herself. She had completely forgotten about her mission to avoid interaction and sharing information, but she convinced herself that one conversation with a small-town bartender couldn't kill her. (Too many people had already tried that, anyway.) Besides, he was the one doing most of the talking.

They had moved to this part of California years ago, but he had always been in the state. He had worked for over twenty years at a police precinct up until he reached the "ripe old age of retirement" as he put it. He was midway through one of his cop stories but eventually some late-night regulars entered and he was captivated by their week's endeavors. He trotted along to greet them. He promptly began getting their orders. She was glad when none of the other patrons acknowledged her.

Without the conversational distraction that Peter was, she was abandoned to her own thoughts and that was a special kind of madness. The noises of people playing pool and drinks clinking on the counter top fading away as she drifted into her thoughts. It was impossible not to think about how things could be different, or how many people she'd lost. How many people had died because of her. And there she sat, drinking a bottle of beer in a town so close to the one where she'd grown up, and also nearly died in.

She was sad and grieving, most of the time it felt like she would never stop, but she was also angry. Angry that she had lived and people she loved had died. Again and again. Angry that time and time again she always ended up helpless, and alone. Still, she knew that was partly her own doing. She had a special knack for pushing people away, after all, she believed it was safer.

Peter eventually returned, and he was ready to offer her another bottle when she intervened and said she was better off calling it a night. She thought better than driving and called herself cab after waving goodbye to the bartender. She rode off into the night, back to her small, empty house. When she got there, her thoughts only carried over from the bar and seemed to echo, and engulf her before sleep could reach her.

———

Over the next few weeks she had grown accustomed to dropping by the bar on Thursday or Friday nights to enjoy Peter's company and temporarily distract herself from her own thoughts. Her typical pattern was broken after a particularly rough Tuesday. Someone at work had recognized her from the 'Woodsboro Murders'. Her day became less than desired. Chaos and questions consumed her. She left as soon as she could, but she knew none of her coworkers would view her the same.

When she took her regular seat at the bar she finally used those two precious words.

Whiskey, please.

He did his job, giving her the shot and a curt nod before chatting-up other guests. She downed it quickly, hoping the burn in her throat would take away from the aching in her heart.

Not that it ever worked. It wasn't the first time she'd drank in an attempt to appease her emotions, and it likely wouldn't be the last, but it had been awhile. It was a process of trying to remind herself some things never change; no matter what proof of liquor she drank, she couldn't swallow her feelings.

Another bartender eventually showed up, it was half past 9 when she glanced at her worn out watch. She kept drinking. She had all the time in the world, anyway.

She was responsible though, not allowing herself to get anymore than buzzed. It took self-control, but her paranoia also nudged her in the right direction. How would she defend herself from a potential killer if she was inebriated? Then again, what was the point of fighting something that was bound to happen again anyway?

It was 10:30 when she decided she should call a cab company. She had her phone out of her pocket, ready to dial, when out of the corner of her eye she saw a familiar face enter the bar. And for once, it was not a previous Ghostface visiting her in the depth of her mind. She turned her head to the entrance, and saw Detective Kincaid entering the bar.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you have any suggestions! I'll likely be adding atleast 1-2 more chapters. 
> 
> Don't forget to leave a Kudos! Thanks!


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